


Something's Starting Right Now

by Nicnac



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Little Mermaid - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-10-16 23:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac
Summary: Good Omens AU idea nobody asked for #107,823: Crowley as the feckless youngest prince who spends all his time sailing and Aziraphale as the anxious merman trying desperately to pretend like he isn’t enamored the forbidden surface world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look it's another thing I swore I wasn't going to do!
> 
> Okay, so arguably as of the time of posting some people have asked for this. But that summary is the original tumblr post that started me down this rabbit hole, so it felt appropriate. 
> 
> Important thing to be aware of: I'm going to be drawing from both the 1989 Disney movie and the original Hans Christian Andersen story for the The Little Mermaid bits. Also, despite having three separate stories to draw plot from (including Good Omens itself) I will be going rogue for most of this story and doing my own thing. Including, but not limited to, telling the majority of this version of the story of The Little Mermaid from the POV of the prince rather than the merperson. Dare to be different, y'all.

The nice thing about being the king’s bastard son nobody wanted around was he was never expected to be anywhere – in fact it was generally preferred that wherever he was, it was elsewhere – and so he never had to be anywhere he didn’t want to. Let the rest of his family have their glittering balls and sumptuous banquets, full of cutting remarks and razor-edge smiles; he’d much rather spend his time on the open sea. It occurred to him on occasion it was entirely possible the only reason he didn’t want to spend time with his family was their open disdain of him, but he was usually able to suppress that thought unless he was very, very drunk.

“Your Highness, Prince Anthony?” his valet stammered at his elbow.

He sighed and turned away from his contemplation of the open ocean. “Yes, Mr. Pulsifer?” he responded, his tone a pointed reminder.

“Sorry. Crowley sir,” Newt corrected. Prince Anthony, for all that he was a bastard, was still a prince, his status acknowledged as such by the late king before his passing and as of yet unrevoked by the king his brother, Lucifer. Crowley suspected Lucifer viewed him as a sort of mangy street cur – not a creature you wanted around by any means, but far too pitiable to be worth the bother of putting him out of his misery. The point being, Prince Anthony was a prince, and therefore couldn’t be expected to do much of anything on a ship besides lounge about and perhaps direct others toward tasks in need of completion. On the other hand, Crowley was free to be treated as just another member of the crew, if a somewhat higher-ranked member. Not that the crew didn’t know Crowley was Prince Anthony – it would be impossible to hide with his flame-red hair, courtesy of his foreign mother – but that sort of thing was easy enough to ignore so long as it wasn’t being constantly shoved in everyone’s faces.

Crowley hummed in acknowledgement of the apology. “And what is it you think I’ll be upset over?” he asked. Newt had been with him long enough not to make that sort of mistake unless he was nervous. Well, more nervous than usual.

“It’s just that today is your birthday, sir,” Newt began.

“I am aware,” Crowley agreed testily. One of the reasons he’d chosen to go on this particular voyage was it hadn’t been expected to return to port until well after his birthday. Even with the winds in their favor for most of the trip, fortune had smiled upon him as they weren’t expected to arrive to Castle Underwood until tomorrow morning. “But I fail to see why you’re bringing it up.”

“Ah, well the crew and I thought we’d do a little something…” he trailed off as Crowley’s expression darkened with each word. If he had wanted to celebrate his birthday, he would have – well, no he wouldn’t have. Even if he wanted to celebrate his birthday, his family wouldn’t be the ones he wanted to celebrate with, but the point remained he didn’t want to celebrate it at all.

“Did you tell him yet?” Adam, the ship’s cabin boy, appeared at Newt’s elbow with Dog at his heels. Dog had supposedly been brought aboard the ship to serve as a ratter, but seemed to spend the majority of his time serving as Adam’s pet and companion instead. As the ship didn’t seem to be overrun with rats, Crowley had opted not to complain.

Adam didn’t wait for Newt to answer, instead turning to Crowley and saying, “We’ve got fireworks for your birthday!”

“Fireworks,” Crowley repeated.

“Yes sir,” Newt said.

“Where in Hell do we have fireworks aboard this ship?”

“The Captain’s been hiding them in her cabin,” Adam told him.

“Clever.” Crowley looked at Adam. The boy was so bursting with excitement Crowley almost imagined he could see his tail wagging, same as Dog’s. Finally Crowley chuckled. “Fine, I guess we can all enjoy a good fireworks show. But no birthday talk.”

“It’s your birthday, sir?” Adam asked, expression deadpan. Crowley rolled his eyes and scuffed the boy about the head before sending him off.

“You do like the fireworks?” Newt asked him.

“Yeah, they sound great,” Crowley said. At times Newt could be a bit… the word bland came to mind, but he had a good heart. “Appreciate it. The fireworks, and keeping things low key.” Not that fireworks were low key in themselves, but with them everyone’s attention would be on the sky, not on Crowley.

“Well I did commission this really nice statue of you, sir…”

Crowley’s jaw dropped in horror. Then he saw the honest-to-God smirk on Newt’s face. Well, the closest his face could get to a smirk. “You… you…” Finally Crowley burst into laughter.

“I do try, sir,” Newt said.

Crowley clapped him on the shoulder and favoured him with a wry grin. “And sometimes you even manage to succeed. “

Soon enough sun sank below the horizon, and once the night finished rolling in it was time for the fireworks. They really were spectacular, like brilliantly blooming flowers made up of starlight. The light of them bounced off the ocean waves, redoubling the wonder of it all.

It was just a shame that the fireworks distracted them all from the storm sweeping in.

_Aziraphale had been leaving his secret cave when the flashes of light overhead caught his eye. They were coming from above the water, from the surface world. His siblings would ignore it, would be appalled at the notion of being close enough to the surface to even notice the lights in the first place. The surface world was dangerous, filled with vicious barbarous humans. Aziraphale gazed down into the depths, where his family awaited. He bit his lip._

_He turned and swam upwards. _

_Atop the waves was a human ship, magnificent and whole and far closer that Aziraphale had ever seen one that hadn’t been sunken to the ocean floor. He approached cautiously, but the humans seemed too distracted by the lights to notice him. _

_And who could blame them? The lights were glorious. Flashing in the sky in a riotous profusion of light and sound and colour. Aziraphale found himself climbing up the side of the ship to get just a little closer. And what should he discover there, but that the humans were producing the lights themselves! Such beautiful, glorious things humans created. Aziraphale couldn’t understand how they could possibly be bad. _

_He enjoyed the lights for a while longer until he sensed it. He could smell it in the air, feel it in the pressure on his scales that crawled into his belly and awoke an instinctive urge to dive under the waves and down deep where it would be safe. A storm was coming. _

_The humans weren’t reacting. They didn’t seem to realize what was approaching. Perhaps too distracted by the lights, Aziraphale reasoned. Or, as a less charitable voice that sounded remarkably like Gabriel suggested, perhaps they were too stupid to see it. Everyone knew humans were deaf and blind to the world around them. That feeling in his stomach nagged at him, telling him he ought to return to the ocean and leave the humans to their fate. _

_He _ought_ to, but he didn’t want to. Resting with his back against the railing, very close to the spot where Aziraphale was perched on the outside of the ship, was one of the humans. He was a long, lean one with hair that, even in the dim radiance of the stars and the intermittent flashing lights, was vivid red. He was a little ways away from the other humans; Aziraphale could reach out and warn him and none of the others would have to know. He reached his hand up. Faltered. _

_Thunder crashed and lightning shot from the sky, rendering Aziraphale’s indecision moot. The humans were aware of the storm now and began rushing about the ship. Aziraphale slipped back into the water, but did not swim home. He watched from a distance, frightened for the humans. The ship which had seemed so large before now looked tiny as it was buffeted by the wind and waves. Aziraphale had seen other ships, just as large and larger even, down on the sea floor with jagged holes in their sides. What if the same happened to this ship? What if the humans all fell in the water? The sea held no love and protection for them as it did for Aziraphale. If they fell in, then the humans that created those beautiful flashing lights would drown and die. _

_After an endless eternity, the storm began to abate. The humans and their ship had pulled through, and for a moment Aziraphale was hopeful everything would be okay. Then one last jagged bolt of lightning struck the ship’s sails, illuminating too late the rocky outcropping the side of the boat scrapped and broke itself against. Where the lightning had struck a new light bloomed and began to spread. It reminded Aziraphale of the flashing lights in the sky from before, but whereas those had been ephemeral and beautiful, this light was _hungry_. This, Aziraphale realized with horror as he watched it devour wood and cloth and rope indiscriminately, was fire. _

_The humans were not bested yet. Their ship was sinking, but over the sides of it a collection of little boats appeared. The humans crowded into them. They looked less secure and far less comfortable than the large ship had been, but at least these little boats were still floating and were far away from the fire. Despite the last defiant gesture from the storm, the humans were going to make it after all._

_Or so Aziraphale thought only to be immediately disproven once again. Because now one of the humans – the same red-haired one from before – was jumping into the water and swimming back to the sinking ship. He reached it and climbed up the side, disappearing amongst the wreckage and flames. Was he mad? Or just stupid? Or, suggested the Gabriel-voice, maybe he was both; he was a human after all. Aziraphale pushed the voice away and inched in closer._

_After a minute the human reappeared at the side of the boat, carrying something in his arms. He tossed it in the water, at which point Aziraphale realized it was an animal of some kind. It must have been left behind on the ship, and the red-haired human had gone back to save it. The animal hit the water and began swimming toward the boats. A small human reached over the side and pulled the animal up, hugging it close. Its safety assured, Aziraphale turned back to the red-haired human just in time to see a piece of the ship break and hit him on the head. The human tumbled forward and sank beneath the waves. _

_The first second after it happened, Aziraphale was frozen in panic. The next in indecision. He wasn’t supposed to get involved in the surface world. It was forbidden. And it was just a human. A stupid, barbarous human. A stupid, barbarous human that hadn’t hesitated to put his life at risk to save another. Aziraphale dove._

_With a few powerful strokes of his tail he reached the spot where the human had fallen into the water. He looked around frantically and finally spotted him, deeper than he had expected. The human’s eyes were closed and his limbs drifted aimlessly with the currents. Aziraphale worried he was too late, but when their heads breached the surface, the human coughed and sputtered before beginning to breathe normally again. Not dead then, just unconscious, and not appearing as though he’d awake soon. _

_This was both a blessing and a curse. As long as the human was unconscious there was no risk of him discovering Aziraphale. On the other hand, as long as the human was unconscious he couldn’t swim himself over to the boats, and Aziraphale couldn’t bring him over himself without risking being seen by _all_ the humans. There was nothing for it, then. Aziraphale would have to carry the human all the way back to shore. Luckily they weren’t too far from land; in fact they were even closer now than they had been before the storm. Aziraphale shifted the human into a position where his head would stay safely above the waves and began to swim._

“I’m sure it won’t be too much longer now.” The voice was soft and even, the tone low. It was a soothing counterpoint to the pounding in Crowley’s head and the aching in his chest. It pulled Crowley back into consciousness, but it was slow going.

“It really was a stupid thing you did, dear,” the voice continued. “You could have died. You very nearly did. And that would have been a shame, I think.” There was a shuffle of movement and then Crowley could feel something hovering just a hairsbreadth away from his cheek. It hesitated there for a long moment before the fingers finally touched against his skin, brushing a lock of hair away from his face.

“Of course if it were a shame, it would only be because you’re the kind of person who would do the stupid thing you did. Comes back around full circle, doesn’t it?” The voice paused and sighed. “I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

Crowley wanted to reassure the voice. He didn’t know what the other had done, but he was convinced the voice wasn’t capable of doing the wrong thing. But he didn’t seem able to speak yet. He couldn’t even tilt his face in the direction the hand had disappeared to.

“It wasn’t the wrong thing,” the voice said with new-found determination that seemed only slightly forced. “It couldn’t have been. Because I’m sure what you did was the right thing, and what I did was very nearly the same thing. Though you’ll notice I didn’t almost get myself killed doing it.”

Crowley would point out he wasn’t dead, so obviously whatever it was had worked out fine, thank you very much. He would point that out, just as soon as everything stopped hurting so much.

“Oh,” the voice said suddenly. It was so _soft_. So soft and surprised, and Crowley had never wanted anything so badly. He ached with the need for it. Though admittedly some of that might have been the general aching of his badly abused body. He opened his eyes the barest slits, and even then the bright light assaulted him, causing his headache to worsen. But he didn’t _care_ because now he could see him. Crowley’s vision was still hazy, leaving the features blurry and indistinct, but the sun! The sun was framed perfectly behind him, its corona lighting up his white-blonde hair like a halo. He was heart-stoppingly beautiful, his face angled in profile as he looked off into the distance.

“Oh, someone’s coming,” he said. He smiled down at Crowley, and Crowley cursed his befuddled eyes. He wanted to memorize every detail of that smile, but he could barely see it. “Not to worry, I’m sure they’ll take care of you. I… good-bye.” And then he _left_.

Crowley darted out a hand to stop him and cried out, “Wait!” Or he tried to anyway. It came out more as a feeble twitch of his fingers and a pained moan.

“Oh goodness!” cried a voice from the direction the man had been looking in. A rushed patter of footsteps approached. “There’s someone washed up on the beach here!”

Crowley opened his eyes further, but the man had disappeared completely, though where he could have disappeared to, Crowley didn’t know. He was on the beach, and there was nowhere in sight to hide.

The night before began to filter back. The ship, the fireworks, the storm, the fire, rushing back to save Dog, and then… nothing. Nothing until he woke up on the beach soaking wet and in pain with a mysterious man beside him who had vanished as soon as other people had begun to approach.

A young woman crouched down next to him. “Are you alright?” she asked. Crowley managed another moan. Her hands fluttered uselessly over him for a minute before her expression took on a determined cast. “Let me help you up.” She lifted him in a sitting position, though Crowley rather suspected the majority of the work was being done by the other pair hands coming from someone on his other side. A guard presumably, to match the lady’s maid standing just behind the woman.

“There, much better,” she said. Her eyes swept up and down the length of him before lighting with recognition. “That hair; you must be Prince Anthony! Your crew came in this morning in rowboats, saying how your ship had been caught in a storm, and you lost at sea.”

She really was a very beautiful woman. Her lashes were dark, her eyes bright, her nose pert, her cheeks flushed and dimpled, and her lips full. Her glossy sable hair was coiffed back in a simple yet elegant twist with a single curl having fallen enticingly free. Her frame was petite with a hint of soft roundness and her clothing was modest in the way that spoke of only the highest possible quality.

Crowley stared right at her, right through her, and noticed none of it. He only had eyes for the ocean lapping at the shore behind her. “I was saved. By an angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important world-building things that probably won't make it into the story proper: Adam and Warlock Young are twins. While Adam is out learning about ships and sailing, Warlock is at home (with his cat) learning numbers and accounting. When they grow up the two of them become merchants and start a business together. 
> 
> For the captain of the ship in this chapter I didn't really have a Good Omens character for her to be, so I decided she's the cat lady captain from the movie Treasure Planet. Do I mean she's the human version of that character or do I mean this ship was casually being captained by a alien cat lady? You decide!
> 
> Comments are adored! Or come be my friend on [tumblr.](https://nicnacsnonsense.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure how he got back to the castle – that part of his memory was fuzzy. He was pretty sure there had been a lot of half-carrying of him involved in the process though. Presumably some of that was done by the guard that had been down at the beach, but he did have a distinct image of himself stumbling along with his arm over Newt’s shoulders. Regardless of how, someone or something must have gotten him back to the castle because his next clear memory after his angel left was being awakened in his own bed by a truly horrible-smelling concoction.

He looked at Newt reproachfully. “You let the witch in here?”

Anathema Device was not technically a witch. That was to say, she wasn’t a witch in the sense that everyone pretended not to notice she was a witch until they showed up at her door in the middle of the night to beg some potion or spell off her. Everyone except Crowley, who would cheerfully proclaim she was a witch in any and every situation – provided it wouldn’t get her in trouble – and only stopped by her cottage in the middle of the day to discuss her garden and to give her and Newt the opportunity to be moony-eyed at each other.

“You nearly drowned, sir! I was worried for your health,” Newt protested.

“Aw, Newt, I didn’t know you cared,” Crowley drawled. It was meant as a tease, but Newt’s expression took on a distinctly wounded cast, and Anathema glared daggers at Crowley. “Joking. Of course I know you care,” he said. In fact he strongly suspected Newt was the single solitary soul who lived in the entire castle who cared about him. But that wasn’t the sort of thing Crowley wanted to dwell on ever, so he crinkled his nose at the mug in Anathema’s hand and changed the subject. “Though if you really cared, you wouldn’t be asking me to drink that.”

“If you’d rather, I can go fetch the court physician for you. I’m sure he’d be up for a nice round of bloodletting,” Anathema said, her voice sarcastically sweet.

“I doubt bloodletting is the cure for near-drowning,” Crowley said.

“No, but I’m sure he’ll say your headache is caused by too much blood in the brain. So you can either have a bunch of leeches stuck to your forehead for no reason or you can drink the smelly tea and get better,” said Anathema.

“Give me a minute to think it over,” said Crowley.

Anathema glared. “Drink the damn tea.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but took the mug from her – as all three of them had known he would from the start – and gulped it down as fast as he could. “That is disgusting.”

“That’s how you know it works,” she said. Then she – bless her witchy heart – offered him a fresh mint leaf to chew on to get the taste from his mouth. “Now go back to sleep and get some more rest.”

“What if I’m not tired?” Crowley said.

“Because you’ve ever needed an excuse to sleep more,” Anathema said dryly. “Besides, even if you’re not tired now, you will be in a minute when that tea hits.”

Crowley managed an accusatory glare, but his sharp retort was overtaken by a yawn. Anathema smiled at him. “Sleep,” she commanded, pressing him back down into the bed. After the obligatory amount of grumbling, he did just that.

Crowley slept through most of that day, waking up sporadically and briefly throughout. Every time he woke it seemed like there was someone else waiting by his bedside. Once it was Adam, accompanied by his twin brother Warlock, Dog, and Warlock’s cat. Another time it was the captain of the sunken ship, apologizing profusely for getting him nearly killed despite Crowley’s insistence it was the fault of the storm and his own stupid behaviour. There were others too, and when Crowley asked Newt how exactly all of them were getting into his royal chambers, Newt played dumb in a way that was spectacularly unconvincing.

The one set of people who didn’t ever show to check in on his miraculous rescue and ongoing recovery were any of the members of his family. Not that he had expected them to show up or wanted them to, but… Well, the less he thought about that the better, probably.

The oddest visitor of them all was the one who was there when Crowley woke up at dinnertime. She had actually come bearing his dinner on a tray, but her clothing made it clear she wasn’t any kind of servant. There was a vague sense of something familiar about her, but Crowley honestly had no idea who she was. “Good evening, Lady…”

“Princess Vanessa. Of Glauerhaven,” she said, looking crestfallen.

“Oh yes, right, of course,” Crowley said. His sudden recognition of her as the young woman who’d found him on the beach wasn’t feigned, but he would have had it been necessary. Glauerhaven wasn’t an especially large or prosperous kingdom, but nor was it an insignificant one, and Crowley was fairly certain the Princess Vanessa was currently heir presumptive. Lucifer was unlikely to continue to extend his negligent mercy if Crowley truly offended someone Lucifer thought actually important. “My apologies. I’m having difficulties thinking straight at the moment.”

Vanessa flushed and dimpled at him. “I understand; you’re still recovering from your ordeal. Here, I’ve brought you sustenance to help your recovery.” She placed the tray on the bed in front of him, then pulled up a chair alongside looking as though she’d be perfectly happy to feed him too if it proved necessary.

Crowley sent Newt a wide-eyed look, who sent him an equally wide-eyed and helpless look back. In fairness to Newt, there wasn’t really much of anything he could do to get Crowley out of this situation. The only objection they’d be able to reasonably offer up without risk of giving offence would be of propriety. But with Crowley being on his sickbed and with both Newt and Vanessa’s lady’s maid in the room to serve as chaperons, any such objections could be dismissed and very obviously would be.

It wasn’t as though Crowley necessarily objected to Vanessa herself as a dinner companion. She was sweet and solicitous and genuinely concerned about his well-being. It was admirable, and understandable after the state she’d found him in earlier, but all Crowley could think about was wanting to kick her out. These were his personal chambers, and while he was willing to allow the earlier intrusions on the grounds that they were all his friends in some fashion or other, Vanessa was barely an acquaintance. Crowley did not easily let other people into his personal spaces, be they metaphorical or actual physical places.

Finally the interminable dinner did miraculously end, and Crowley was able to beg off further company on the grounds of needing more rest. Vanessa smiled graciously and excused herself, saying that she hoped to see him again soon. Crowley echoed the sentiments automatically while mentally urging her to just leave already. As soon as she had gone, Crowley flopped back on the bed with a sigh of relief. He intended to be dramatic about the whole ordeal for a while longer, but he actually was still very tired and ended up falling right back to sleep.

With all the sleep he had gotten the previous day, it was no wonder Crowley woke as early as he did. Anathema’s tea had worked its promised miracles, and while he suspected it would be a few more days before his stamina was back to normal, most of his aches and pains had subsided to nearly nothing. Pleased with his recovery, Crowley pulled himself out of bed and began to dress.

Newt came in shortly later, as the sun had just finished cresting over the horizon. “What are you doing?” he demanded, looking torn between rushing over to help Crowley finish dressing or to force him back into his nightclothes and bed.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Crowley said. He turned his back to Newt. “Come help me with these laces, will you?”

Newt did as commanded even as he continued fretting. “You’re not supposed to be dressing yourself or getting dressed at all today. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can rest on the beach,” Crowley said dismissively. “It’s a short walk down, and then I promise to sit and be restful all day until I return.”

“The beach?” Newt echoed as he pulled on Crowley’s waistcoat. Typically Crowley did not wear a waistcoat; in fact he rarely wore more than a shirt and trouser whenever he could get away with it. Still, if bundling him up in abundance of layers is what it took to calm Newt’s anxiety and allow Crowley to take his trip to the beach in peace, he’d allow it. “Why would you want to go to the beach?”

Crowley considered Newt carefully for a moment. He’d deliberately avoided telling anyone about his experience yesterday – possibly aside from one vague comment he’d made immediately after the fact, but he wasn’t sure if he’d said that out loud or not. The point being, it wasn’t a story he was eager to spread around. On the other hand, it was just Newt. There was no harm in telling him.

“It wasn’t just luck that I survived the storm. Someone saved me,” Crowley said.

Newt looked somewhat confused. “You mean the Princess of Glauerhaven?”

“No, not her,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “I guess she helped some after the fact, but I would have been fine either way. No, I was pulled from the water by an angel.”

“An angel, sir?” Newt’s tone suggested that perhaps Crowley had swallowed too much sea water the other day and maybe Anathema ought to come check his head again.

“Well, I doubt he was an actual angel. He was a bit of a bastard actually. In the colloquial sense, not…” Crowley made a vague gesture toward himself, mostly directed at his hair. “Picture me, lying on the beach passed out after nearly drowning, and here he is bragging about _he_ didn’t get _himself_ nearly killed when he was saving my life. Smug bastard.” Crowley made no effort to hide the delight in his tone.

“You like him because he made fun of you.” Newt said slowly.

“Like you’re one to talk. We both know what a firecracker Anathema can be,” Crowley said.

“Yes, but she isn’t _mean_ to me,” Newt objected automatically. Then he blushed and began stammering. “Not that she and I are... not officially… we’ve never actually discussed… that is…” Crowley looked at him sceptically. Newt blushed some more and looked away.

“Well, setting that aside, I’m not interested in him just because he’s a bastard. Plenty of those to go around in that case.” Crowley sighed and sat down on the bed. “From what I can gather he didn’t save me because he saw me drowning, and it was the right thing to do. He seemed a little unsure on that one really. He saved me because… I don’t know, he thought I was someone worth saving, I guess. And when he got me to the beach he stayed there and talked to me until help arrived. Maybe he really is an angel.” Crowley pressed his hand to his mouth as if it physically stop any more words from coming out.

“Anthony,” Newt said, his voice pained.

“What?”

“It’s just… you were pretty out of it when you got back to the castle yesterday. You called me salamander. And lizard. And frog. And just about anything you can think of besides Newt, really. Don’t you think it’s possible you imagined this angel of yours?”

“He’s _real_. I’m going to find him. And I’m going to…” Crowley already had so many fantasies, so many things he wanted to do and say. An unhealthy amount, probably, given how little time it had been, but there it was. But he didn’t need to tell Newt that. “To thank him, for one.”

Newt looked at him, expression laced with sympathy, for a moment longer. Then he nodded. “Stay here.”

Crowley immediately stood up again. “I am going to the beach.”

“You are going to stay here. I am going to have the kitchen send up your breakfast now, which you will eat while I have a lunch packed and get together some blankets and find a walking stick for you. Then we will go to the beach,” Newt said in his firmest tone.

It was a tone Crowley could and had argued with in the past without a second’s hesitation, but in this case he could see Newt’s point about getting some food first. “Fine, breakfast, then the beach. But I’m not using the walking stick.”

He ended up using the walking stick. But honestly, it wasn’t his fault there were so many bloody staircases between his chambers and the entrance to the castle. And there was really no call for Newt to look so smug about it either.

Eventually they made it to the beach. Crowley settled them in the same general area as where he’d been found, based on a rock that jutted out from the water a little ways into the surf that he somewhat recognized. Newt laid out two of their blankets for them to sit on, and Crowley categorically refused to have the other draped over him.

“Now what?” Newt asked.

Crowley honestly had not thought that far ahead. “We wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long for something to happen, though unfortunately it was not the something Crowley was hoping to happen. After about ten minutes Vanessa and her small entourage, complete with a hamper of food of their own, came strolling down the beach. It was perhaps not surprising, since Crowley had interrupted her walk the day before, but it was a little frustrating as he suspected the angel wouldn’t show up if there were an abundance of people around. He certainly had run off pretty quickly the last time Vanessa had shown up.

“Prince Anthony!” she called, dimpling at him. She hurried over to where he was sitting. Newt stood up and bowed, but Crowley stayed seated, planning on attributing it to his poor health if called on it.

“Princess Vanessa,” he said with a nod.

She blushed and looked down at her feet. “I was thinking, you could just call me Vanessa if you like. We did go through a very personal sort of experience together yesterday, and titles are such a mouthful, don’t you think? It’s not as though it would be improper, what with the two of us having the same status.”

“I doubt many would agree my status is equal to yours, all things considered,” Crowley remarked.

“Oh you mustn’t believe that,” she said insistently. “You are still a prince, no matter who your mother was, Anthony.” Crowley had actually been rather fond of his mother, thanks. “I can call you Anthony, can’t I?”

“If you like,” Crowley said, waving it off. He certainly wasn’t one to stand on ceremony.

Vanessa dimpled at him again. She had her own blanket set up so close to Crowley’s they overlapped slightly, then sat down at the very edge of it. “I am surprised you would want to come out to the beach today.”

“Can’t stay away,” he replied vaguely.

“Even after your experience yesterday?” she asked.

“We can’t help what we love.” That was probably a little too honest, but it wasn’t as though she would understand what he was talking about anyway. Vanessa blushed and offered a soft agreement before moving the topic of conversation on to some piece of court gossip.

Again, she wasn’t a terrible companion. Crowley had suffered through far worse in his time. She was consistently sweet, even if the sweetness started to get vapid and wearing as the day went on. She was also hopelessly naïve, but she was only sixteen or seventeen, barely more than half Crowley’s age. She was a grown woman, but young enough that she was probably entitled to a little hopeless naivety for at least a few more years. So really, Crowley didn’t mind talking with her for a little while.

The trouble was she just wouldn’t leave. And not just on that first day. She showed again at the beach on the next day. And the next. And the next. By the evening of the fourth day, Crowley was just about ready to strangle the silly little chit. He began plotting ways to get her to stop coming to the beach and just leave him alone for a while, which was probably why he didn’t notice who was coming down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Crawly,” Lucifer drawled, a smile spreading across his face like slow poison.

Crowley bit back the desire to correct him. Over the years he had slowly gotten his other siblings and cousins resigned to calling him Anthony, but not Lucifer. Lucifer had been the one to give Crowley the nickname at their first meeting, when Lucifer had been seventeen and already vicious and Crowley had been barely more than a babe. He would not relinquish it now; the bastard son had to be kept in his place after all.

“Lucifer,” Crowley said coolly, sketching a half-bow.

“I see you’ve recovered from your ordeal,” Lucifer said.

“I am feeling better,” Crowley agreed warily.

“Good. Then you’ll be up to joining us for dinner this evening.”

Crowley froze. He had a standing invitation to join his family and any other distinguished guest of the court for dinner every evening. However, that invitation was never insisted upon except by Lucifer, and only when he was up to something. And Lucifer’s schemes never turned out well for Crowley.

“I’m afraid I’m not. I overexerted myself today and planned to retire to straight to my chambers,” Crowley said, leaning heavily on his walking stick. After that first day he’d mostly only been using it as a prop, but now he clutched to it like his life depended on it. He wasn’t entirely convinced it didn’t.

“I see,” Lucifer said, his ice blue eyes glittering with some unnamed emotion. “Tomorrow in that case. You will see to it he doesn’t overexert himself.” The latter command was directed at Newt, standing at Crowley’s shoulder.

Newt gulped. “Yes, your majesty,” he said, giving a deep bow.

Lucifer gave Crowley one last piercing look, then swept away. Crowley and Newt scurried up to Crowley’s chambers without another word.

“He’s up to something,” Crowley declared as soon as the door was safely shut behind him.

“Undoubtedly,” Newt agreed.

Crowley threw himself facedown and spread-eagle on the bed. “I don’t think I can take any more of this.”

There was a pause. “Should I have dinner brought up, or are you just going to go to sleep like that?” Newt asked.

Crowley laughed. From Anathema that statement would have been biting sarcasm. From his angel Crowley suspected – he would say he knew, but just about the only thing he knew was his fantasies were getting out of hand – it would have been sarcasm laced with affection. From Newt it was just an honest question.

He flopped back over. “Have dinner sent up. Hopefully by the time it gets here I’ll feel up to feeding myself. If not, you can just spoon-feed me.”

Newt’s look of horror as he scuttled off to the kitchen was enough to carry Crowley through the evening without having a complete breakdown.

The next morning Crowley sat bolt upright when he woke, startling Newt, who had been busy laying out Crowley’s outfit for the day. “I have the solution to all my problems,” he declared.

“What’s that, sir?” Newt said sounding highly sceptical. That was probably fair.

“I need you to have _The Bentley_ prepared for a voyage with enough provisions for a month.” Crowley considered Lucifer’s glittering eyes from the night before and amended, “Make that two. I leave this evening before dinner.”

“How does that solve your problems?” Newt asked.

“My first problem is my brother is plotting something. But if I can make myself scarce for long enough, he’ll forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind. The second problem is Vanessa constantly showing up on the beach while I’m trying to find my angel. If I go out on _The Bentley_, then she won’t be able to follow me. I was rescued out at sea, so it stands to reason he’s just as likely to be out there as he is on the beach. And once I’m finally alone, I might stand a chance of seeing him again.”

“That is a terrible idea,” Newt said.

“Probably,” Crowley agreed, but he didn’t have any better ones, so here they were.

Newt groaned and scrubbed his face. “This is a terrible idea. But at this point I think the only way out is through.” He sighed. “Okay. I’ll have your ship prepared.”

_On the fifth day after Aziraphale saved him, the human didn’t come back to the beach. This was a good thing he told himself. The reason he’d been coming back to this beach every day, watching the human from behind the convenient rocky outcropping not far from shore, was out of concern for what the human might do. Aziraphale was almost certain the human had seen him sitting on the beach before he’d fled back into the water that first day. The human’s continued pilgrimage to the beach each day seemed to confirm that suspicion. And so now that he hadn’t been to the beach, not once all day, that suggested the human had given up. Which was good thing._

_Except… oh, admittedly Aziraphale didn’t know the human that well, but he was sure he wasn’t the type to give up that easily. If he wasn’t at the beach today, then it was because something had happened. That was, the human was up to something; that was what Aziraphale was worried about. Not that the human could be hurt and unable to come to the beach. Even though he could be. Humans were so fragile, and while he’d seemed like he was recovering, it was possible the human had some kind of delayed reaction to his ordeal and was sequestered away inside his dwelling. He could have died, and Aziraphale would never even know. Oh no, this was no good at all._

_He waited by the beach until the sun began to set, at which point he had to admit the human simply wasn’t coming today and there was no reason to keep hanging about. Aziraphale was fretful and slow on his journey back out to sea, which was probably why the docks caught his eye. With a heavy sense of dread, he turned and began swimming in that direction. _

_He swam past the largest ships first, but the activity around them seemed minimal and Aziraphale didn’t see the human he was looking for anywhere near them. He drifted onward toward the smaller boats – though none here were near as small as the ones the humans had crammed themselves into after the storm the other day. Finally he spotted the flash of distinctive red hair. Aziraphale’s human – that was, the human Aziraphale had saved – was standing near one of the smallest boats. It was still large enough to have an interior space for the humans to retreat to, and it looked like it would be comfortable for about two or three people. Presumably two in this case, as Aziraphale’s human was standing with the other human that had always accompanied him to the beach. Specifically the one that had come to the beach with his human, not the other one who had always met his human at the beach and sat so very close to him and leaned in even closer and that Aziraphale didn’t like for reasons he found himself unable to place. _

_He watched as his human boarded the ship and the other human untied it. Then the other human pushed the boat off _and did not get on it_. He stayed on the dock, waved to Aziraphale’s human, and then walked away back toward land. Five days ago Aziraphale’s human had nearly drowned, and now he was getting back on a ship, going back out on open water completely alone. _

_Good Lord, he really was going to get himself killed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told y'all we were going rogue. Though admittedly Aziraphale being barely in this chapter was possibly a little more rogue than even I expected. *quietly ups the chapter count*
> 
> Also, I realize I threw the Princess of Glauerhaven up there in the character tags like that isn't the deepest of Little Mermaid cuts. In the Disney movie during the scene where Ariel is spying on Eric up in his boat, Grimsby (old dude) says the massive statue of Eric was supposed to be a wedding present, and Eric's response is "Look, you're not still sore because I didn't fall for the princess of Glauerhaven, are you?" The version of the character in this story takes her given name from Ursula's disguise and is probably most closely aligned with the human princess character in the original story.
> 
> Comments are my sunshine. Or come hang with me on [tumblr.](https://nicnacsnonsense.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

About twenty minutes out of port, when Crowley was needing to commit to a direction aside form simply “away,” he realized he had not actually thought this far ahead.

In his defence, he really couldn’t afford to think too far ahead with his plans here, mostly because if he did he would need to face the fact there wasn’t a plan to be had. He didn’t know near enough about his angel to be able to come up with any truly effective way of running into him again. The only thing he’d ever know to work to draw the angel out was near-death by drowning, and that didn’t bear consideration. Well, not serious consideration though he did have a number of fantasies that featured a repeat drowning and repeat saving followed by his angel declaring, “You really are hopeless, dear. I suppose I’ll just have to stick around.” He liked those ones almost as well as the ones where he turned the tables and saved the angel from some trouble. Admittedly, those latter ones tended to be a bit vague, since he wasn’t entirely certain what kind of trouble an angel could get into that Crowley might be able to save him from. Oh, unless he was actually some sort of aquatic fae, and he were caught in iron manacles, cut off from his powers, and Crowley swooped in at the last moment to save him from a grisly fate. Yes, he was definitely circling back to that one.

The point being Crowley couldn’t deliberately nearly drown himself again on the off-chance his angel might show up. He certainly couldn’t destroy _The Bentley_ like that at any rate. Although maybe if he fell off the side of the boat and just pretended to be drowning… He might circle back to that one as well.

He supposed the main trouble with his plan to return to the ocean and find his angel there was “the ocean” covered a lot of ground. Both metaphorically and literally. He had to narrow things down somehow.

Well, if he was thinking about his near-drowning, that did lead to the inevitable conclusion of the one other place his angel had definitely been. If the angel had plucked Crowley from the water after he fell off the sinking ship, then that meant he had to have been at the place where the ship sank. Thinking on it more, that was probably an even better location to run into his angel than on the beach. His angel had come to the beach because he was rescuing Crowley, but that couldn’t have been his reasoning for being where he was before Crowley had fallen into the water. Not unless he was an actual guardian angel, and Crowley was pretty sure he didn’t have one of those.

So now Crowley had a destination. He had a plan. All he had to do was find a random spot in the ocean that, between the storm and his blow to the head, he had only the vaguest sense of location for. Easy.

_It took three days of his human seemingly meandering around aimlessly for Aziraphale to come to a guess as to what he was doing. It wasn’t aimless meandering, it was meandering with the purpose of finding the place where his previous ship had sunk. At least that’s what Aziraphale assumed, as all the meandering was being done in that general area, though his human had yet to find the spot or get all that close._

_Still, it made logical sense. Suppose something had been left behind in the rush to evacuate the ship that his human hoped to retrieve. He’d spent days on the beach not because of Aziraphale, but because he believed he had washed up there and thought whatever object he was searching for might as well. When that hadn’t happened, he had gone back out on the ocean to seek his old ship and the missing item out. Though that didn’t explain why he hadn’t brought his other human companion with him. Aziraphale found himself dearly wishing he had, because then the two of them might talk to each other about what they were trying to accomplish. _

_Of course, Aziraphale supposed it didn’t matter if he knew what his human was looking for. He couldn’t very well go back to the ship and fetch it for him; how could he possibly explain that? On the other hand, if they reached the ship – which Aziraphale knew for a fact was quite sunk – and his human decided to dive in and try to retrieve the object, Aziraphale might just have to get it for him anyway. Really, Aziraphale had _just_ saved his human’s life. It was rude of him to turn around and immediately put it at risk again._

_Rather like he was doing right now. There was a rock formation peeking out of the water – not the same one the other ship had sunk on, but from the same range – just ahead of the boat that his human was about to collide with. He wouldn’t if he steered the boat to the side a little, but he was too busy staring down at some papers and muttering to himself. There was a chance that even if he hit the rocks his boat would bounce off or slide along them harmlessly, but there was also a chance his human was about to sink his ship on the rocks again and nearly drown again and need to be saved by Aziraphale again._

_He waited for his human to look up, to pay attention for just one single solitary second, but he didn’t seem inclined to. Finally, Aziraphale ducked back under the water with a huff and used his tail to give the side of the boat a very strong and loud _thwack_. _

Crowley looked up from his maps, startled. What the hell had that been? It sounded like something had hit _The Bentley. _Off the port bow there was a small rocky outcropping, and for a second he was worried he had sunk yet another ship. But a moment’s consideration confirmed that the rocks were too far away for him to have hit them yet, and really the noise hadn’t sounded like scraping up against rocks. It had sounded more like something had smacked into the boat, like a large fish or a dolphin. Except, as stupid as fish were, they weren’t stupid enough to accidentally run into a boat. And if a dolphin had decided to playfully butt up against the ship, Crowley would expect to see it and the rest of its pod jumping around in the water.

There was one other possibility that occurred to Crowley, one that was definitely worth exploring, “How strange,” he announced loudly. “I could have sworn something hit the boat just now, but I guess it was nothing.” He then turned _The Bentley_ straight into the rocks and made a show of going back to his maps. Not more than fifteen seconds later, something smacked into the boat again, harder this time.

“Ha!” Crowley cried in triumph. “I knew it. That’s you, isn’t it, angel?” It made sense. Whatever was hitting the boat seemed to be doing so with the express intention of making sure he didn’t run himself aground on those rocks. Who else could it be out in the middle of the ocean with those intentions but his angel?

Running on the assumption the nearby rocks meant the sea floor was shallower here, Crowley took his anchor and threw it overboard. He was vindicated when the anchor sunk, then settled before reaching the end of its chain. There was no reason to continue sailing when he knew his angel was here, after all. That settled, he looked out over the open ocean, but despite knowing his angel had to be right around here somewhere, there was no sign of him. Crowley opened his mouth to say something to draw him out, then closed it again when he realized he hadn’t actually thought this far ahead.

This was swiftly becoming a pattern.

“Hello,” he began awkwardly. “I know you’re there. I wanted to thank you for saving me. And to…” To what, exactly? He had fantasies, of course, but all of those were predicated on his angel actually showing up and being a willing member of the conversation. And besides those were just fantasies, this, whatever it was, was real. “To get to know you, I guess,” he finally landed on.

There was no answer. There was a sort of listening quality to the silence, though it was possible Crowley imagined that. After a few awkward minutes, he began talking again. “Dog is fine by the way. That’s the dog I saved right before you saved me. Adam, the cabin boy, named him. He was supposed to be the ship’s dog but Captain Amelia decided to let Adam keep him as long as they both report for duty.”

Crowley continued to ramble on about Adam and Dog and Captain Amelia and the rest of the ship’s crew. From there he moved on to talking about the purpose of their voyage, and then to sailing in general. The last topic in particular was a great passion of his, and he easily kept his monologue up for the rest of the day.

There was never any sort of response from his angel, but the sense of someone listening never faded throughout the day either. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what he was even doing at this point, but he didn’t have any better ideas either, so… talking it was. With any luck maybe he’d happen across something his angel would feel compelled to respond to. And if that didn’t work, throwing himself overboard still remained as a last resort.

Once the sun finally dipped below the horizon, he decided it was time to call it quits for the day. At some point early on in his one-sided conversation he had taken a seat on the deck, leaning up against the port side railing, and now he stood up to head back into the cabin. “Oh,” he said, realization suddenly dawning. “I never told you my name. It’s Crowley. Well, actually it’s Anthony, but I usually go by Crowley. I would say it’s nice to meet you, but we haven’t actually met yet technically.” He paused expectantly, but wasn’t in the least surprised when no introduction was forthcoming.

“Right,” he said. “Goodnight, angel. See you in the morning. Well, I’ll come talk at you again anyway.”

The next day he did as he promised, coming out on deck in the morning, still snacking away on his breakfast, and talked for the entire day. Having spent the all yesterday talking about his time at sea, he started off today with his life on land. He’d already talked about Newt and Adam some the day before, but he went into more depth now, also covering Anathema and the rest of the Youngs. He talked about people he knew in the capital and some of the best places to go and sights to see. He didn’t talk about his family, save for a brief mention that he had one, and he didn’t talk about his duties as a prince, aside from a brief mention that he was one.

Eventually he moved onto to discussion of his two other great passions, astronomy – which was really just an extension of sailing in many ways – and botany – which was arguably about as opposite of sailing as one can get.

“Not that I can see why that should matter,” Crowley said. “I’m allowed to like both land and sea if I want. And when you think about it, astronomy is sky so I’ve got all three covered. Well, sort of. Don’t know that I can really say I’ve got sky covered without being able to fly. But I can’t. No wings.

“I’d like to have wings,” he mused. “Big black wings, like a crow. That’s where my nickname comes from, you know. Crowley. Back when I was fourteen, maybe fifteen, my sister Bee lost her hair clip. Big ugly black thing with two rubies in it, she loved it, wore it all the time. She accused me of taking it. I hadn’t, but she didn’t believe me and… Well, afterward I went up to my chambers. There’s this tree outside my window, massive thing, and these crows had built a nest in it. I looked out the window and there in the nest was Bee’s hair clip. Probably should have been mad, but it cracked me up, honestly.

“Ruddy clever birds, crows. I started bringing them food, and they learned who I was pretty fast. Would even fly up to me on the street to say hi. That’s why I decided –” He cleared his throat and cut himself off before he could say anything about Lucifer and “Crawly.” He returned the topic to botany instead.

The next morning Crowley woke up with the stark awareness he had run out of things to talk about. Really, it was surprising he’d managed to keep it up as long as he had without anyone talking back to him. He was still convinced his angel was listening, but that didn’t exactly do much to keep the conversation going.

Luckily, he had managed to come up with a back-up plan. Aside from voluntary drowning, that was. In addition to the standard provisions, Newt had had _The Bentley_ stocked with a very large collection of books. Crowley presumed they had been intended to help him stave off boredom, especially as he was half-convinced Newt was at least three-quarters convinced the angel was just a figment of Crowley’s imagination. Regardless of the intention, the thought was appreciated and was coming in quite handy at the moment. He browsed through the titles, looking for something promising. It was quite a wide range: some scientific treatises on topics Crowley was interested in; a few collections of poetry; a couple of travelogues; a bible, which Crowley regarded with a narrowed gaze before deciding it was a joke; a dictionary for some reason; a folio of Shakespeare, though with a frown Crowley noted it was a collection of tragedies. Oh no, wait here was another folio with the funny ones.

Crowley’s first instinct was _Much Ado_ or maybe one of the travelogues, but then a devious thought occurred. With a wicked grin he grabbed the other of the Shakespearean folios and headed up.

“I thought we might try a little reading today,” he announced, and he swore he heard a splash. Granted, not an odd thing to hear out on the ocean, splashing, but this struck him as a special splash. An “an angel is nearby and listening” kind of splash. If Crowley had known his angel was so interested in books he would have done this ages ago. Well, two days ago anyways.

“I’ve brought quite a collection of books out here with me, including some very entertaining ones,” he continued. “But for today I’d thought I’d read you a very gloomy play about an indecisive idiot who doesn’t manage to accomplish much of anything besides getting most everyone around him killed. Unless you have any alternate requests?” There was no response to that, but Crowley wasn’t expecting one right away. They would have to wait and see just how dreadfully dull he could make this thing first.

Not very, as it turned out. He was having a difficult time keeping himself from constantly stopping and adding his own commentary on what was happening, which he had to presume wasn’t dull, though it might be annoying if his angel were actually invested in what was going on. Which was more likely than it could have been as Crowley wasn’t able to stop himself from making voices as read either. In his defence, Shakespeare was really meant to be performed, not read, and if he was going to be reading it he had to be able to get through it somehow.

When _Hamlet_ failed to garner a response, Crowley switched to one of the scientific papers. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep the interest in his voice or his interjections to a minimum this time, but he picked the driest most densely written of the options available to him hoping to bore the angel on subject matter alone.

That effort failed too. By then the sun was beginning to set, so Crowley gathered his things, hissed, “Tomorrow I’m going to read to you from the fucking dictionary,” and went below decks for the night.

True to his word, he came up the next morning after breakfast, dictionary in hand. He began his reading with a vindictive sort of glee. This surely had to garner some sort of protest. His angel liked books, didn’t he? So he had to be annoyed that of all books, Crowley had chosen to read to him from the one book that was never intended to be read from straight through. And yet he still didn’t say a single word.

By the time Crowley had reached the B’s, his vindictiveness had lost all steam. By the end of the C’s he had finally managed to hit on the dull lifeless tone he’d been shooting for yesterday. And still the angel said nothing. Crowley knew he was there, knew deep down in the depths of his soul his angel was there and listening to him, but he didn’t say a word. He hadn’t said a word when Crowley greeted him, when he had spent two days spilling out his life story, when he’d half-performed an entire bloody play for him, or even now that Crowley was deliberately trying to goad him into frustration. The angel cared about him – he must after he’d saved Crowley’s life and was now sticking around presumably to make sure he didn’t get hurt again – but not in the way Crowley wanted him to.

His reading slowed, and finally came to a stop mid-definition. He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing. Eventually he got up, and walked back to his cabin.

* * *

Crowley staggered back up on deck, a three-quarters empty wine bottle in hand. It was not the first bottle he’d opened that day. “Sorry I left, angel,” he said. He made it to the middle-ish of the deck and fell down. He didn’t spill the wine though, so that was good. He flipped over onto his back and took a drink. This time he did spill the wine, a lot of it. Oh well.

“Stars!” he said. There were a lot of them up there, all twinkling away. “I could name them for you. I could name them _after_ you. I would, if I knew your name.

“Not that I mind calling you angel. Cause you are an angel, even if you aren’t one.” He frowned. He was pretty sure that was supposed to make sense. “Metaphorically. You’re an angel metaphorically even if you aren’t one lil– littler– in real life. Still wish I knew your name. I wish you’d tell it to me. I wish you’d talk to me.” He tried to take another swig of the wine, only to find the bottle empty. He let it fall to the side, his arm collapsing in front of his eyes. “I just wish you’d talk to me.”

With his arm like this he couldn’t see the stars. Couldn’t see anything. Everything was all dark. He didn’t like that; he liked looking at the stars. He wouldn’t mind not looking if his angel would just talk to him, though.

Crowley sat bolt upright, letting go of the wine bottle and sending it rolling into the water. He scrambled to his feet, just having the presence of mind to shout, “Be right back, angel.” He began tearing through all the clothing he had on board, looking for something he didn’t mind ruining. Finally he came across a waistcoat. What was it with Newt trying to get him into waistcoats? Who did he think Crowley had to impress, especially out here on this boat? _Your angel_, his brain helpfully supplied. Crowley reminded it that he couldn’t impress the angel if he didn’t show up, and besides this was _its_ idea for fixing that situation. His brain conceded the point, and with a flash of his knife, Crowley cut a long strip of cloth from the waistcoat. The fabric was perfect for his needs, black and thick without being excessively stiff. He tied it around his eyes and made his way back on deck.

“I figured it out,” he announced as he made his way across the deck. It was very difficult because he couldn’t see where he was going, and the boat was pitching about all over the place under him. Quite rude that. Also, Crowley may have been the tiniest bit drunk. “It’s not just about me being alone, is it? You don’t want me to see you either. But that’s okay because now I’ve got this blindfold, so you can –” He stumbled, tripping over his own feet.

“Oh, do be careful, dear!”

Crowley froze. Well, he tried to freeze, but he did it a little too fast and ended up losing his balance and falling on his hands and knees. “Angel?”

There was no answer.

He began crawling quickly toward where he’d heard the voice coming from. “You said something. I know I heard you say something.”

“Yes, alright, I said something,” his angel said. His voice was just as soft and fussy as Crowley remembered it. “Now please stop trying to get yourself thrown overboard.”

“Ha! I knew that plan would have worked,” Crowley said.

“What plan?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Crowley continued to crawl across the deck, but he made a pointed effort to slow down and be careful about it. Finally he reached the railing and sat down, wrapping an arm securely around one of the posts. “There, now I won’t fall. Now will you talk to me?”

There was a hesitation. “You won’t take the blindfold off?” his angel asked.

“I swear on, on… on anything you like,” Crowley said.

“On your honour should be more than sufficient.”

Crowley nearly swooned. He might have actually swooned, but if he did, it was only because he was maybe, possibly, probably, a little bit, very drunk. “Angel, you can’t just say things like that.”

“Like what? Why not?” His angel sounded perfectly innocent and perplexed. Crowley wanted to swallow him down whole. Confusingly, at the exact same time he also wanted to curl up inside him and never, ever leave.

“Never mind. I promise on my honour I won’t take my blindfold off around you unless you say I can,” Crowley said.

For a moment there was no response, and Crowley tensed in panic. Then the sound of rushing water and a series of noises like someone climbing up the side of the boat. He listened as his angel settled himself right next to him on the other side of the railing. There was another moment of hesitation, then the tips of three fingers brushed the back of his hand.

“Aziraphale,” the angel said. “My name is Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are adored. Or come spaz out with me on [tumblr.](https://nicnacsnonsense.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated, testing the word in his mouth. He grinned. “Perfect name for an angel.”

“You do know I’m not actually an angel. I’m… well, I’m not an angel,” Aziraphale said.

“Sure you are. My guardian angel,” Crowley said.

“I’m really not. I’m certainly not the messenger of any sort of god, and beyond that angels are supposed to be kind and righteous and virtuous, and I’m not anything like that, really.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted. He couldn’t picture Aziraphale in his head, not clearly, not with how little a look he’d gotten, but he could imagine a pair of hands twisting back and forth fretfully in a lap. Crowley wanted to reach out and still those hands, to take one of them in his own. But he couldn’t see, so if he reached out, there was no telling what he might grab. Even if he could see, there was no guarantee Aziraphale would want that from him. “It’s fine,” he said instead. “Don’t listen to me. I’m drunk. I’ve had too much wine.”

“Ah, is that what that bottle was? I fetched it back out of the ocean for you, though I don’t know that you’ll want to drink any more of it; a lot of salt water got in when it fell overboard,” Aziraphale said.

“’S’alright,” Crowley said. “Didn’t need any more anyway.” Not to mention he was fairly certain the bottle had been empty by the time he dropped it.

“Wine is an intoxicant for humans, isn’t it? How much of it did you drink?”

“Too much,” Crowley answered. A corner of his brain helpfully pointed out if he hadn’t been as drunk as he was right now, he might not have come up with his brilliant blindfold plan, and Aziraphale might not have come out of the water at all. Crowley conceded that any hangover tomorrow was worth this, even if the hangover was bound to be a very unpleasant one.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked.

And this was how Crowley knew he was drunk, because he answered Aziraphale completely honestly. “You wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t want to think about that.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Oh. I didn’t mean to cause you any distress.”

“Not your fault,” Crowley said. The words came out automatically because he could hear the fretting worried tone of Aziraphale’s voice, which was the last thing Crowley wanted, but when he thought about it, it was true. “You don’t have to talk to me. I know you said you would, but you don’t have to, not if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” Aziraphale said. “I really shouldn’t be, but I’ve wanted to for… oh, a very long time now. And now that I already have, no reason not to keep on going with it, right?”

“That’s that spirit,” Crowley said. “I’ll drink to that. Or I would if my wine wasn’t full of sea water.”

“You know dear, maybe you should get some rest, if you’re really that intoxicated. You do seem a little… loose at the moment.”

“No, I’m fine,” Crowley said just a little too quickly to be casual or believable. “We can keep talking.”

“Or you can go rest now and we can talk in the morning.”

“Promise?” Crowley asked, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

“I promise,” Aziraphale said. “On anything you like.”

Aziraphale echoing Crowley’s words sent a strange swooping sensation through his chest. “I… just a promise is fine. I trust you.”

“Well, then I promise. We can – oh, no that won’t work, will it?” Aziraphale said.

“What won’t work?”

“Well, I was thinking you could read some more, but I don’t suppose that’s possible with the blindfold on.”

“No, not exactly.” Crowley paused. “I could… that is, if you wanted you could hide out during the day and I could read to you. Then once it starts getting dark I could put the blindfold back on.”

“But I promised I would talk with you,” Aziraphale said.

“And you will. After I read to you,” Crowley replied.

“Oh thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale brushed his fingers against the back of Crowley’s hand again, letting them linger longer this time. Crowley decided if he did it a third time, then he would be justified in grabbing Aziraphale’s hand and holding it.

“Sure thing, an- Aziraphale. What do you want me to read?” Crowley asked.

“It’s so hard to decide. I’ve liked all of what you’ve read to me so far. Oh, though perhaps not the dictionary. That one seemed like it was boring you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley laughed uproariously. Of course. Of course he’d actually liked it. “It was supposed to be boring _you_. Thought if you got bored enough you might say something.”

“But it was such a helpful book,” Aziraphale said. “Admittedly I already knew a lot of the words, but there were so many I wasn’t familiar with. I really feel it enhanced my understanding of the other ones you read to me.”

“That’s what it’s supposed to do. It’s a reference book. You use it for a reference, to look up words when you don’t know them. You’re not supposed to just sit down and read it cover to cover,” Crowley explained.

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “That makes sense.”

“Look, if you want me to read to you the dictionary, I’ll read you the ruddy dictionary.” It’d be boring, but he wouldn’t mind if he knew he was doing it because Aziraphale asked him to and was genuinely enjoying it for some reason.

“No, no, it’s fine. I think I’d like to hear another one of those stories like the first one you read, with the voices,” Aziraphale said.

“Another Shakespeare play?” Crowley said. “Sure. I’ve got most of the comedies and the tragedies. Any preference?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t possibly know. Whichever one is your favorite, my dear,” said Aziraphale.

“One of the funny ones then,” Crowley said. He wasn’t really sure which one of them he’d call his favorite, but he could figure that out tomorrow.

“That sounds lovely. Now go get some rest, and I’ll see – speak with you tomorrow. Sleep well.” Aziraphale brushed his fingers against Crowley’s hand that third time, and true to his promise to himself, Crowley twisted his hand to give them a brief squeeze. Aziraphale made a startled noise in response that didn’t sound bad, but Crowley figured it was probably his cue to leave before he tried to push anything too far.

He started to stand up, then stopped. “I know I swore I wouldn’t, but I’m going to need to take my blindfold off to go back below decks,” he said.

“Of course,” Aziraphale said. “Just give me until the count of ten, and then you’ll be fine to take it off.”

Crowley counted loudly so Aziraphale could hear him, but not so loud that he didn’t hear the splash like someone jumping into the water. Not that he hadn’t already know Aziraphale had come out of the ocean anyway. When he reached ten, he took off the blindfold. He couldn’t stop himself from turning to look out over the open water, but there was nothing to see. Nothing but the water and the waves. If it weren’t for the echoes of Aziraphale’s voice in his ears and the lingering sense of heat on his hand, he might have imagined the whole thing.

Crowley stood and made his careful way across the deck. When he reached the door to the cabin, he paused. “Good night, an- Aziraphale.”

“Crowley?”

He wanted to look. He wanted so badly to turn, to look, to see. He clenched his eyes shut. “Yes?”

“I was thinking that as long as you know not to mean it literally, well… you can call me angel. Only if you want to.”

Crowley rested his head against the door and smiled. “Good night, angel.”

“Good night, Crowley.”

* * *

_The days that followed were… oh, Aziraphale didn’t know how to begin to describe them or how they made him feel. Lovely, certainly. Wonderful, nearly perfect even. There was a warm glow inside him unlike any he’d felt in his five thousand eight hundred years of life. _

_That wasn’t to say he didn’t love his brothers and sisters, of course. He loved them dearly, and appreciated their company, it was just that Crowley was… He was quick-witted, an easy grin and an eyebrow cocked in amusement. He was always teasing, but it was a good-natured sort of tease, like he wasn’t pointing out flaws at all, but rather things he was fond of. He was _good_, and Aziraphale had known he had to be good with the way he’d gone back to save Dog at risk to his own life, but it just kept striking him how good a person Crowley was. Not at all like the stupid, brutish humans Aziraphale’s siblings only ever spoke of in disdainful tones. _

_Perhaps the most startling thing of all was how kind he was to Aziraphale. At first Aziraphale thought it might be gratitude for saving his life. Gratitude that prompted him to listen so closely when Aziraphale spoke, and gratitude that made him indulge Aziraphale in his interests and obsessions. But gratitude couldn’t possibly explain how he seemed to enjoy the indulging. And surely gratitude would have worn thin enough by now that Crowley would have grown tired of Aziraphale’s endless questions about life on the surface._

_When Aziraphale meekly suggested as much, offering an apology for being a nuisance, Crowley threw his head back and laughed. Aziraphale drank in the sight of him – the shape of his lips, the way his throat moved and shoulders shook – and wished dearly for a glimpse of his eyes beneath the blindfold. It was an unfair wish, when Aziraphale got to see nearly all of Crowley, but denied him even a glimpse of Aziraphale himself, but it was a wish he couldn’t push away. _

_“Oh angel, you never need to apologize for that. I practically invented asking too many questions,” Crowley said._

_Aziraphale frowned, “But you’ve hardly asked me any questions at all.” _

_Crowley’s smile faltered, and he brushed his hand against the blindfold without seeming to be aware he was doing it. “Don’t want to scare you off.”_

_Aziraphale felt a tangle of guilt in his stomach, even knowing he shouldn’t. Or rather he should, but what he should feel guilty about was letting things go as far as they had. He wasn’t supposed to be interacting with humans, or even going up to the surface, at all, much less spending every day talking with a human and every night floating nearby waiting for him to wake up again. He couldn’t give Crowley up, but he shouldn’t, couldn’t, take things any further._

_Rather than the apology he couldn’t offer, Aziraphale reached over to take Crowley’s hand and gently squeeze it in his own. Crowley’s smile turned to fondness once again and he gently ran his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s knuckles, turning the churning guilt in Aziraphale’s stomach into something entirely different and unaccountably fluttery. _

_“Why don’t you tell me more about _The Bentley_,” Aziraphale suggested. He intended it as a further peace offering, knowing how much Crowley loved his ship, and had completely forgotten about his own burning question related to the topic until Crowley responded._

_“Sure, we can talk about my girl.”_

_“_The Bentley_ can make new life?” he asked eagerly._

“Uh, what?” Crowley said. He knew he was feeling a little overwhelmed, what with Aziraphale having taken his hand and letting Crowley caress his fingers, but he hadn’t thought he was that distracted.

“You called _The Bentley_ a girl. She’s capable of creating new life?” Aziraphale repeated.

So Crowley hadn’t misheard. “No, she can’t. Calling ships female is a tradition. She – it’s not actually alive,” Crowley said.

“Well of course not, but neither are eggs and they give birth to new life all the time.” Crowley’s confusion must have been evident, because Aziraphale continued somewhat fretfully with, “Oh dear, do you not understand how genders work? I thought it was odd the way you kept using she and he all over the place.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Crowley said, feeling a bit amused now. “Explain how it works for you to me?”

“Alright. Well my… people, my brothers and sisters that is, we’re all male.”

“Your sisters are male?” Crowley asked.

“That is what I just said, my dear,” Aziraphale replied.

“Okay,” Crowley said. That didn’t really make sense to him, but he supposed that was the point of this whole conversation.

“As I was saying, we’re all male. We’re capable of sustaining life and deriving joy from the gift of life, but we can’t create new life ourselves. Our Mother is the one who created us, and she is female. Anything else that creates life is also female. Eggs primarily, but the ground gives birth to plant life, and whales can give birth to new young all themselves. Whales are very special.”

“I like whales,” Crowley said. “But, uh… don’t only some whales give birth?”

“Yes, but not every egg hatches into a fish either. They’re still all female,” Aziraphale said. His voice became hesitant. “Is that… not how it works on land?”

“There are some similarities, but not exactly, no,” Crowley said. “For one thing, gender is differentiated by individual, not species. And only living things have a gender. Calling _The Bentley_ a she is just a sign of respect and affection. She’s not actually a she.”

“Goodness, that sounds confusing. How is one supposed to know what gender anyone is if it’s all just willy-nilly like that?”

“Men and women look a little different, though that’s not always reliable or easy to tell. They’ve got different ways of behaving and talking and dressing, but that can all change around depending on where you go. Technically you could look inside their drawers, but not something you should be doing if you aren’t invited and even that’s not always reliable either.” Crowley let out a sigh of frustration. This was confusing, wasn’t it? “Honestly, best bet is to guess based on what they’re wearing, and if they tell you something different go with that instead. It’s not my business to tell anyone who they are. Well, I’ll tell them if they’re a prick, but it’s not my business whether or not they have a prick.”

“What gender are you, then?” Aziraphale asked. “Also, what’s a prick?”

Crowley groaned inwardly. Right, if Aziraphale’s species, whatever that was, didn’t make babies, then it was possible they didn’t have equipment for it at all. Crowley didn’t mind Aziraphale’s questions, because even though there seemed to be a lot Aziraphale didn’t know, he was still so clever. Crowley could explain something to Aziraphale and he’d understand just like that. They’d had many long in-depth discussions about topics Aziraphale hadn’t known the first thing about earlier that same day. Crowley just wasn’t emotionally prepared for this particular topic.

He had a brief mental debate as to how deep he wanted this part of the conversation to be, and decided on not very, at least not at the moment. “I’m male. Broadly speaking, humans come in either male or female – about equal amounts of each – with certain different body parts for either gender. Prick is one of the words for the male body part.”

“And the female one?” Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley went through a mental list of slang terms, cringed at the thought of saying any of them to Aziraphale, and finally went with, “Vagina. This gets back to what you were saying earlier about females creating new life. These two body parts are compatible. So a man and woman can come together and there’s a process which starts the creation of new life. The woman takes over after that, the life grows inside her, and nine months later she gives birth to a baby.”

“Ah, so that’s why in your stories it’s always a male and female pair bonding with each other, because that’s how humans make new life,” Aziraphale said, sounding quite pleased with himself for having sorted it out.

“Ngk,” said Crowley. At no point during the conversation had he become unaware of the fact Aziraphale was _still holding his hand_, but suddenly he found himself hyperaware of it. “That’s one of the reasons, yeah.”

“Oh, my apologies, I didn’t mean to sound like I was discounting love and romance as part of the process,” Aziraphale said. “And after you read those poems to explain the concept to me so beautifully.”

“’S’fine,” Crowley said. With any luck the dim evening light would hide his blush. “That’s not what I meant anyway. Usually when two people fall in love it’s a man and a woman, but some women prefer other women, even if they can’t have kids that way. And sometimes a man will fall in love with someone who’s male.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said. Crowley wished he could rip his blindfold off and see his expression, if only for a second, because he was getting absolutely nothing from Aziraphale’s tone. At least he hadn’t pulled his hand away yet. “I admit, that’s actually something of a relief.”

“Yeah?” Crowley said, valiantly trying to push his hopes back down.

“This might sound a little silly to you, since you’ve grown up with females around you all the time, but honestly the thought of forming a pair bond with one strikes me as rather intimidating. Two males seems much more relaxing to me.”

“That’s not… Look, angel, there’s no way you’re more intimidated by women than Newt is, but that didn’t stop him from falling in love with Anathema. People fall in love with a particular gender because that’s what they like. What they’re attracted to.”

“And I am not attracted to females,” Aziraphale said.

“You’ve never even met a woman,” Crowley protested. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was arguing, since this was pretty much exactly what he wanted, but it just didn’t feel right to him. It didn’t count if Aziraphale only wanted it because he didn’t have enough reference to know what he wanted. That, or this was another brilliant example of Crowley’s ability to get in his own way. Could be both, really.

“I have too met a woman,” Aziraphale said.

“Your mother and a bunch of whales don’t count,” Crowley said.

“I wasn’t counting them,” Aziraphale huffed. “I was referring to Vanessa.”

“Who’s Vanessa?” Crowley asked, both a bit thrown and a bit jealous.

“The one who collected you from the beach after I saved you. I’m fairly certain you referred to her as a female. Her clothes were different than yours are too.”

“Of Glauerhaven, right,” Crowley said. “You know, met is a pretty strong word for someone you watched from a distance one time.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Yes, well… the point is I didn’t care for her. I much prefer spending time with you,” he said, and he squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter.

“Right. Good,” Crowley stammered. “I, uh… I prefer spending time with you too.”

He didn’t need to see Aziraphale’s face to know he was smiling. “Good.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone read the comments on last chapter and had certain expectations about what's in this chapter, I actually wound up splitting it, so now this chapter's mostly the angst and pining and the next chapter is the soft fluff.

They held hands all the time now.

At first it had been just those brief brushes. Aziraphale’s fingers against the back of Crowley’s hand, a way of saying I’m here. Crowley had occasionally met these finger brushes with brief squeezes of his own, but Aziraphale had been the one to move them to full-blown hand holding. Initially the hand-holding had been as occasional as the finger brushes and generally not lasted all that much longer. I’m here, I’m listening, I care. But as the days slipped by those holds lasted longer and longer. Eventually they reached the point where evening would fall, Crowley would pack away the book of the day and get some supper, then slip his blindfold on and soon after Aziraphale would slip his hand into Crowley’s where it might very well stay until the late hours of the night or even the early hours of the morning when Crowley finally stumbled off to bed.

That wasn’t to say they held hands constantly when they were together. Sometimes Aziraphale would pull his hand away only to return it a few moments later, presumably after he’d finished whatever gesture he was making as he spoke. There were times, usually after they’d been talking for an especially long while, when Aziraphale would briefly excuse himself, there would be a splash, and then he would return moments later, hand freshly wet with sea water. Other times Crowley knew exactly where the hand went, as it pressed itself against another part of Crowley’s body during its short time away from his hand. Tucking a strand of hair loose from its tie behind Crowley’s ear, a clasp on the shoulder, a brush across a cheekbone, a quick touch to his leg. On one memorable occasion Aziraphale’s hand had pressed flat against Crowley’s chest right above his heart. He’d been illustrating some point with it, but as that had been one of the times Aziraphale had used his free hand and left the other clasped in Crowley’s, Crowley couldn’t even begin to say what the point had been. He’d been a little bit fuzzy on his own name for a second there to be honest.

So yes, they held hands all the time now. Crowley was very familiar with the feel of Aziraphale’s hands. But that was all he was familiar with. Because while Aziraphale’s hands were free to roam wherever they may, Crowley didn’t dare touch any other part of Aziraphale’s body, to reach out for anything that hadn’t been explicitly offered. It didn’t matter how badly Crowley wanted to reach out, wanted to place his own hand against Aziraphale’s heart, to press his fingers against an arm, a leg, a cheekbone, to wrap his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and hold him tight, to bury his nose in that faintly recalled halo of curls, to kiss him and kiss and kiss and kiss, drinking the sea water from his lips. It didn’t matter, because Crowley wanted Aziraphale’s continued presence more. He would go at whatever pace Aziraphale wanted. Holding hands was fine. It was enough.

Aziraphale settled in next to Crowley and slipped their hands together. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand lightly. Aziraphale squeezed back.

“Can I ask you a question, my dear?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley chuckled. “A little late to be asking permission for that, don’t you think?”

“Ah, I meant a question of a more personal nature in this instance,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, okay,” Crowley said, with only the slightest bit more hesitation. Aziraphale had asked him personal questions before, just usually as a natural extension of the existing conversation, rather than bringing it up unprompted before their conversation had even begun. Still, he couldn’t imagine any question Aziraphale could ask that Crowley wouldn’t want to answer.

“Why don’t you ever talk about your family?”

Ah, right. Except for that one. “You don’t want to hear about my family,” Crowley said.

“Of course I do,” Aziraphale insisted. “It’s your family; they’re important.”

“Important isn’t the same thing as good,” said Crowley.

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley sighed. He wouldn’t, would he? Not when, from what little Crowley could gleam, he had a perfect mother and dozens or even hundreds of siblings who all loved each other. “I can tell you about my mother if you like. She was a great lady.”

“Was?” Aziraphale echoed.

“She died when I was seven,” Crowley said.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Aziraphale said. He squeezed Crowley’s hand. I’m here, I’m listening, I care about your pain.

“It was a long time ago.” Crowley said. As though that made it any better. Easier maybe, but only because he’d gotten used to it.

“But like I was saying, she was a great lady. A great mother. She really took care of me, really loved me. I could always feel it, right in here,” he said, pressing his free hand to his chest. He’d decided a long time ago it was unfair for blame her for the hole there now where her love used to be. Sometimes he did anyway.

He swallowed. “She, uh, she had red hair, same colour as mine. It’s more common where she came from; here sometimes it seems like I’m the only one with it.”

“She came from somewhere far away then?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah,” Crowley answered. “Small farming village in a small kingdom to the northwest. She was too smart for that place though. Real clever and always asking questions, wanting to know why. I guess I got that from her too.” Certainly he wouldn’t be here now talking with his not-literally-an-angel if he were the kind of person to just let things be. “So she left and travelled the world, learning as much as she could on the way. Eventually she wound up at Castle Underwood as a tutor for my sisters.”

“How could your mother get a job tutoring your sisters?” Aziraphale asked. The bewilderment in his voice made Crowley wish he could see his expression. Even more so than usual.

“Half-sisters,” Crowley clarified. “We all have the same father, but the two of them, and Hastur and Lucifer, had the late queen for their mother. She died in childbirth some years before my mother showed up.”

“So your mother was your father’s second love,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley quirked a sarcastic grin at the notion. “There was no love there, or marriage. Just sex, and me as the happy surprise.” In that moment Crowley was extremely glad that all the Shakespeare and the love poetry had forced him to explain sex to Aziraphale after all; he sure didn’t want to have to explain it now while he was talking about his parents. “My father never even acknowledged me until after my mother died. Everyone knew I was his son, but he never said a word about it. Not a single word for seven years, then she died and all the sudden I was Prince Anthony before her body was even cold.”

“I’m sure he was just being considerate of your mother. He didn’t want to take you away from her, but still wanted to be there for you when she no longer could,” Aziraphale said.

“Maybe.” That seemed a bit sentimental for the cold man Crowley remembered, but when he thought about it, he couldn’t recall that his mother had ever said anything against him. Hadn’t particularly said anything in his favour either, but if he had been a bastard she would have known and would have said something to Crowley, on her deathbed if nothing else. She wouldn’t have left Crowley alone _and_ unwarned. “Too late to ask him now; he died a year and a half after my mother did.”

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry,” said Aziraphale, squeezing Crowley’s hand extra hard as though to convey extra sympathy.

“It’s fine,” Crowley said. Maybe things would have been better for him if his father hadn’t died, but he hardly missed the man.

“But to lose them both. And you were still so young!” Aziraphale said. “At least you had your siblings take care of you after that.”

Crowley couldn’t help it; he laughed. It was a bitter sound, but there was genuine amusement in it too. Hard not to be amused by that ridiculous of a suggestion.

“What? What did I say?” asked Aziraphale.

“My siblings taking care of me. Angel, my family hates me.”

“What? I don’t… how is that even possible?”

That was sweet really. That Aziraphale couldn’t even comprehend the notion of someone’s family hating him. Crowley didn’t want to tarnish that. He should tell Aziraphale he was exaggerating, that his family ignored him and was largely apathetic, but didn’t hate him. He was well-practiced at that lie; it was one he told himself often enough after all. But now that he’d started the words just kept coming, flowing out of his mouth like pus.

“Well Dagon really loved having my mother as a tutor, was always hanging about for extra lessons. But after I was born my mother didn’t have time for that anymore, and Dagon never forgave me for that. Course, she’s not that bad really. She’s married and living in her husband’s country now, so I hardly ever see her anymore. Then there’s cousin Ligur who grew up in the castle with us too and resents that me being acknowledged as a prince knocked him down one in the line of succession. His younger brother Eric honestly probably only hates me because everyone else does. Then there’s Bee and Hastur, who don’t even need a reason to hate me. Having someone to torment is reason enough. And then there’s Lucifer.

“I told you my father died. It was an accident. He and Lucifer were out riding alone and my father got into an accident and died. Never mind that my father was an expert rider. Never mind that his mare was as docile and sweet-tempered as they come. Never mind those weren’t even the kind of injuries you’d get in a horseback riding accident. Lucifer said it was an accident and he’s king now. And that’s not even getting started on…. He was the one who gave me my nickname. Not Crowley, the original one I changed it from. Crawley. I told him I was changing it, that Crawley was a bit too squirming-at-your-feet-ish, and he looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I know it is.’ He hasn’t called me anything else since. He’s evil. He’s evil, and I don’t even care that he hates me because it’s better than the alternative.”

Aziraphale pulled his hand away, and Crowley stopped. Just stopped everything completely winded from an overwhelming feeling of… betrayal almost. He hadn’t wanted Aziraphale to know about his family, but only because Aziraphale was too good to have to deal with that. He’d never thought Aziraphale would actually pull away. He could hear the slight scraping sound of Aziraphale moving across the deck, and any second now he was sure he’d hear the splashing of Aziraphale jumping back in the water. Presumably he’d do Crowley the decency of saying goodbye before swimming away forever. Crowley took in a deep breath and braced himself for the inevitable.

And so was totally unprepared when a pair of arms wrapped around him and pulled him up against a broad chest. He made a strangled inarticulate noise, which Aziraphale wisely chose to ignore, instead rubbing a hand up and down Crowley’s back and saying, “I’m so sorry, my dear.”

Slowly Crowley’s brain caught on to what was happening. He was being hugged. Aziraphale was hugging him. Rather than being disgusted and leaving, Aziraphale was offering comfort over how terrible Crowley’s family was. With a slight hesitance, Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale as well and rested his chin on his shoulder and oh god, that was bare skin. Bare skin against his chin and his hands because Aziraphale was not wearing a shirt. Presumably had not been wearing one the entire time they’d been talking. Possibly had never worn one at all since they’d know each other. And now those strong arms were pressing Crowley up against that bare chest, one with the perfect amount of softness to cradle all Crowley’s bony angles, and Crowley’s hands were pressed up against smooth skin, and he was absolutely dizzy with the sensation of it.

“I had no idea,” Aziraphale continued, completely coherent in spite of the fact he was cradling Crowley’s body against his naked chest. Crowley’s not naked body, and his brain helpfully pointed out how easily that could be remedied. Only fair for the two of them to be on even footing after all. “I knew families on land weren’t always pleasant, but how anyone could hate you; I can’t fathom it. You deserve all the best things in the world.”

To Crowley’s mind all the best things in the world could be summed up by the person held in his arms right at that moment. He assumed that that, and his continued addled state at having all the best things in the world half-naked in his arms – he had to assume half-naked, because he didn’t think he could even handle the prospect of it being more than that – was to blame for what he said next. “Can I kiss you?”

Both of them froze. There was a long still awkward moment, and then Crowley finally processed what had just come out of his mouth. “Shit,” he said. “I didn’t… Sorry. Sorry, I know that’s too fast I just-“

“Too fast,” Aziraphale echoed faintly. He let go of Crowley, and Crowley, with reluctance but all due haste, dropped his arms as well. Shit, shit, shit.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to – that is, we can go at whatever pace you want, angel. We can go back to hugging, or hand holding; I love hand holding. Whatever you want.”

“I have to go,” Aziraphale said.

“Wait no, ang- Aziraphale don’t go,” Crowley begged. There was the splash of a body jumping into the water, then silence. “Aziraphale? Aziraphale!” He stood up and leaned over the railing, shouting out across the water. “Come back! I’m sorry. I won’t ask again. I swear I won’t. Aziraphale! Aziraphale!” He continued to scream hysterically into the night, to no avail. He collapsed back down to the deck, biting back great wracking sobs. Eventually he went back to his cabin. He had to crawl his way across to the door; he’d promised Aziraphale he wouldn’t take the blindfold off.

_“Can I kiss you?” With four words from Crowley, Aziraphale’s entire world ground to a halt. Kiss him. Crowley wanted to kiss him, like, like…_

_“Shit,” Crowley said. “I didn’t… Sorry. Sorry, I know that’s too fast I just-“_

_“Too fast.” As though Crowley had merely sped on ahead down a current they’d been following together, rather than changing directions completely and upending their entire relationship in the process. They were _friends_, not, not… not what kissing would imply them to be. _

_Aziraphale released his hold on Crowley. He was distantly aware that Crowley was still talking, but processing any of it was beyond Aziraphale at the moment. He couldn’t – he needed to think. “I have to go,” he said. Crowley kept talking, but Aziraphale ignored it, jumping into the water and swimming away._

_He’d let himself get too caught up in everything was the problem. He ought to go back home, reacquaint himself with his siblings, and remind himself that whatever his fascination with humans, he was still a merperson. He meant to find himself someplace peaceful and quiet and far away to think everything through. He did neither of those things._

_Granted, whether or not he was far away was really a relative measure. And it was certainly quiet here alone. But he doubted his cave of the human artefacts he’d collected over the centuries would give him the sort of peace of mind he’d been looking for. It had been a refuge for him for a long time, but now there was hardly anything here that didn’t remind him of Crowley in some way or other._

_Friends, he and Crowley were friends. Aziraphale could understand that. Merpeople all loved all their siblings equally of course, but that wasn’t the same thing as liking them all equally. Aziraphale had never quite managed to find a group or even just one other sibling that he had that sort of connection with, but it had made sense to him that he’d felt it with Crowley. He’d been fascinated with humans for millennia, it stood to reason a human would be the one he connected with. So even though he knew it wasn’t right, a merperson being close to a human like that, Aziraphale hadn’t been bothered by it._

_But kissing. That was a human thing. That was a pair bonding, romantic love thing. Merpeople didn’t fall in love, not like that. It wasn’t even that it wasn’t the done thing, the way saving a human’s life and then befriending him wasn’t the done thing. They just didn’t. At all. _

_But Crowley had thought he was. Had thought _they_ were. Was it something Aziraphale had done? Had he somehow given the impression he was interested in pair bonding with Crowley? But Aziraphale had only ever behaved in a way he thought a friend would._

_Well, no, that wasn’t precisely true. He’d only ever behaved in the way he’d wanted to, and since they were friends, he assumed that the things he wanted to do were the things that friends did. He spent every day with Crowley because he wanted to, held his hand because he wanted to, did all the things he did with Crowley because he wanted to. If anything he’d held back from all that he wanted to, conscious of the secret of his own nature that stood between them. Certainly he’d felt the urge to hug Crowley long before tonight. And when Crowley asked to kiss him, just for a moment he’d felt…_

_He’d needed to back away from this. He ought to return home, and then go back to only ever watching humans from a distance, marvelling over all the wonderful things they made and collecting them here in his hidden cave. Just little indulgences, not this fraternization and flagrant rebellion against what was expected of him. He could get by on little indulgences. _

_He looked around his cavern. Treasures untold were hidden away here, and yet none of them looked as beautiful to Aziraphale as Crowley’s bright smile. So many mysteries yet to discover, and yet all of them paled in comparison to the mystery of Crowley’s eyes. This was the place where he’d always been happy and safe to be himself, and yet nothing had ever made him feel as happy and safe as being wrapped in the circle of Crowley’s arms._

_Aziraphale knew what he ought to do. And he thought he knew what he wanted to do. As for what he was actually going to do… He hugged himself tightly, imagining another pair of arms entirely. He just didn’t know._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it's appropriate here and I know he won't mind, I'm gonna steal a line from ineffablefool. Welcome to the Soft Zone™, y'all.

_Aziraphale couldn’t stop moving. If he stopped, he would start thinking, then over-thinking, then he’d second guess himself, and he’d end up paralyzed in indecision all over again. So he swam as quickly and purposefully as he could toward his destination, and he did not stop. _

Crowley jerked awake suddenly. He stared about the cabin bleary-eyed and confused for a moment, and then the memories came rushing back to him. The night before, making that stupid, stupid mistake, Aziraphale leaving, and then spending all that day laying blindfolded on his back in the middle of the deck waiting for Aziraphale to come back. When the sun had set he had crawled back into his bed with no intention of ever leaving it again. As the misery rose above the fog of sleep, he lay his head back down, prepared to do just that.

A thump sounded against the side of the boat. Crowley sat bolt upright. He knew that sound. That was the sound he’d first heard over a month ago now, preventing Crowley’s inattention from running his boat into the nearby rocks. That was the sound he’d continued to hear periodically over the past month plus, when his attention was needed. That was the sound _Aziraphale_ made.

Crowley scrambled out of bed and was halfway to the door when he realized what a mess he was. Technically he supposed it didn’t matter all that much; Aziraphale had made it pretty clear he wasn’t interested in Crowley in any sort of romantic way. Still, he didn’t want to go out there looking like he’d spent the last 24 hours soaking in misery, even if that was true. He changed his clothing into something fresher – he might have even put on a stupid waistcoat if he hadn’t ruined the only one he had on board. He combed the worst of the snarls out of his hair and tied it back into a tail hanging low over his neck. He grabbed the blindfold, but grimaced at the salt-encrusted feel of it. Working quickly – the goal was to make himself look presentable, but not at the cost of keeping Aziraphale waiting – he cut a new strip from the aforementioned ruined waistcoat. They had gotten into the habit of Crowley settling himself on the deck, then putting on the blindfold and signalling it was safe to come out, but for today Crowley tied it on while still in the cabin. He was not going to fuck this up again. Then, taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped outside.

He closed the door behind him, but didn’t step away. Instead he leaned against it, almost clinging to the door as though it could offer some sort of protection or comfort. He licked his lips. “Aziraphale?”

“Hello,” Aziraphale said, somehow pulling off abashed and melodic simultaneously.

Crowley’s knees nearly gave out. That door was really coming in handy. “You came back.”

“I came back,” Aziraphale said. “I’m sorry I left like that. I had some things I needed to think through.”

“_I’m_ sorry,” Crowley rasped. “I never should have – look, obviously I misunderstood things and I’m sorry. I won’t ask you for anything like that again.”

“Crowley. Dear.” There was a brief pause. “Could you… Please take off your blindfold.”

Crowley grabbed his blindfold and clutched at tightly, as though afraid someone was about to come rip it off. He had been waiting and longing for this moment, but now that Aziraphale had said it – said it now after Crowley had nearly ruined everything by going too fast and asking for things Aziraphale was never going to want to give him – the idea petrified him. “I’m fine leaving it on,” he said.

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale said, his voice suffuse with emotion, though what emotion it was, Crowley couldn’t tell. Maybe he’d be able to if he could see Aziraphale’s expression, but he couldn’t risk that. Couldn’t bear it if Aziraphale just wanted to look Crowley in the eyes when he turned him down and said goodbye.

“Why?” Crowley asked. Why now? Why had Aziraphale left, why had he come back, why had he ever even made Crowley wear the blindfold in the first place?

“Because I want—” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You swore to me you would wear the blindfold until I told you otherwise, and now I’m telling you otherwise.”

Crowley had never actually promised to take the blindfold off when Aziraphale told him to. He never would have thought he needed to. He assumed that when Aziraphale finally gave him the okay to do it, he’d be eager to remove the blindfold. He’d even thought that maybe Aziraphale would be the one to do it. That he’d place his hands on Crowley’s face, cupping his cheeks as his fingertips brushed the blindfold and he’d ask, “Can I?” And Crowley would barely be able to breathe, but he’d somehow manage to say, “Yes. _Please_, angel,” and Aziraphale would slowly remove it. That’s what Crowley had thought would happen. He’d never imagined it’d be like this, standing across the ship from each other, with his heart in his throat, pounding with fear and dread at the very notion.

In the end though, it didn’t matter if he’d promised or not. It didn’t matter if he was terrified. It didn’t matter that part of him was sure this was some sort of goodbye gift. None of it mattered compared to the fact that Aziraphale was asking this of Crowley, so Crowley would do it. He untied the knot, and let the blindfold fall into his hands.

“Open your eyes too, dear.” There was something so _gentle_ in Aziraphale’s voice that it very nearly killed Crowley. He opened his eyes.

Aziraphale was beautiful. The moonlight bathed him in ethereal light, making him look very much like the angel Crowley called him. His hair was still wet from the ocean, but there are already a few curly tendrils to hint at the fluffy halo Crowley had glimpsed once before. He guessed it might be blond once it dried out. Aziraphale’s face had a softness to it that matched the soft feel of his body Crowley remembered from their hug. It was clear that his features were the sort to be almost painfully expressive, betraying every emotion that passed through Aziraphale’s mind. At the moment his brows were knit in worry, creating wrinkles Crowley ached to smooth out. He might not have been able to stop himself from doing exactly that, if it weren’t for how far away Aziraphale was, and Crowley’s feet’s inability to move.

“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t notice,” Aziraphale said. His eyes glanced downward, and Crowley automatically followed in the direction of his gaze. Oh. Well, he could see why Aziraphale would have expected him to notice that.

Aziraphale was not, as Crowley had previously subconsciously assumed, standing on the deck of the boat just inside the railing. Instead he was sitting on top of the railing, presumably in large part because Aziraphale couldn’t stand even if he wanted to. Emerging from his hips, instead of a pair of legs, he had a single long fish tail. That was somehow both less surprising and more unexpected than it probably ought to have been.

Crowley found himself walking across the deck, hand outstretched, and was only able to realize what a horrible mistake he was about to make just in time. Aziraphale had only just returned after Crowley had driven him away asking for a kiss; he wasn’t about to drive him away again by manhandling his tail. He snatched his hand back and looked back up at Aziraphale’s face, apologetic words on his lips.

Aziraphale beat him to it. “It’s alright. You can touch it. If you want.”

Crowley searched Aziraphale’s expression, but while he looked nervous, there was no hint of falsehood there. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale’s tail. The dark made the exact colour hard to distinguish, but it was a shade of white or pale cream that appeared to sheen golden in the light. He pressed his fingertips down lightly and found it felt nearly the same as a fish. Slightly cool and slick, allowing his fingers to glide smoothly across, with faint impression of the scales as he went.

“I know it’s not what you were expecting,” Aziraphale said as Crowley was reveling in the feel of his tail, in the simple ability to touch. “I’m sure it looks rather odd to you; human legs looked very odd to me when I first saw them. Oh, I don’t mean yours, my dear. Your legs are very graceful. Elegant even. I only meant it took me a while to get used to the idea of legs and the general look of them, so I understand if you find the tail a bit –“

“It’s beautiful,” Crowley Interrupted.

The dark didn’t quite fully hid the pinking of Aziraphale’s cheeks. “You think so?” he asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Crowley affirmed. “You’re beautiful.” Legs, tail, or something else entirely, it wouldn’t matter. Aziraphale was beautiful regardless of what he looked like.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said and smiled. It was a soft, shy thing, and it lit his whole face up. It immediately planted a desire deep within Crowley to make Aziraphale smile as much as possible; his face was made for smiling.

No sooner had Crowley thought that, than Aziraphale’s expression fell once again. The worry crease reappeared between his brows and it took a monumental force of will to not reach up and smooth it out now that Crowley was close enough to do so. “You can’t tell anyone,” Aziraphale said.

“I can’t tell anyone you’re beautiful?” said Crowley. He hadn’t been planning on shouting it from the rooftops or anything – at the moment he didn’t have anyone to tell beside Aziraphale anyway – but he could hardly see why it needed to be a secret.

“No, you can’t tell anyone about me and how I’m a, well you know,” Aziraphale said, smoothing his hands over his tail.

“Ah. That,” said Crowley.

“Yes, that.” Aziraphale began wringing his hands nervously in his lap. “No human is supposed to know about us. I shouldn’t have even told you, but I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer, not when… But you must swear you won’t tell anyone else.”

Crowley finally did what he wanted to do the first time they talked, what he had been wanting to do every time he could sense Aziraphale’s nervous hand-wringing even when he couldn’t see it. He reached out and stilled the motion, then held one of Aziraphale’s hands in each of his own. “I swear to you on my honour and on our… our friendship, I won’t breathe a word to anyone about what you are.”

“Thank you, my dear. Again.” Aziraphale squeezed both Crowley’s hands tightly, then let go with one hand to reach up and cup Crowley’s cheek. “I am so glad to finally be able to see your eyes. They’re even lovelier than I imagined.”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, words failing to form. Aziraphale couldn’t say things like that; Crowley would get the wrong idea all over again. He swallowed, and reattempted to speak. “Nah, they’re not that great. They’re this awful yellow colour; you just can’t tell because it’s so dark out right now.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “This is nothing. What, do you think the ocean is all crystal clear cornflower blue water all the way down? I’ve been in far darker places than this, and I promise I can see you perfectly clearly.”

Physically, Crowley knew Aziraphale meant he had really good night vision and could physically see Crowley, but… But the way Aziraphale had said it, the gentle smile on his face, the fond look in his eyes, his one hand in Crowley’s while the other cupped Crowley’s cheek, the fucking romantic moonlit night, it was all too much for Crowley. He felt _seen_, in a way that he rarely, never was, and he couldn’t handle it. But he couldn’t run from Aziraphale either, couldn’t possibly take one single step away, so he ended up dropping his forehead on Aziraphale’s shoulder in a pathetic attempt at hiding.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked. He gently squeezed Crowley’s hand.

Crowley squeezed back. “Nngh. ‘M fine. You’re just a bit much, angel. ‘S good thing, though.”

“Ah. Yes, I think I understand that,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley barked a choked half-laugh. “A bit much is probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me.”

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale admonished. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that. You’re wonderful; I’ve told you as much before.”

“No you haven’t,” Crowley said. Those words would have been engraved on his soul if Aziraphale had ever said them.

“Maybe not in so many words,” Aziraphale said. His left hand, which had fallen off Crowley’s cheek when Crowley had dropped his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, came to rest on Crowley’s waist. “But you are wonderful. You mustn’t let anyone make you think otherwise. Not even me.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crowley said. Feeling greatly daring, he placed his own free hand on Aziraphale’s waist, grabbing a perfect handful of soft skin. When Aziraphale didn’t protest, Crowley allowed his thumb to lazily stroke back and forth.

“I hurt you. Before, when I left,” Aziraphale said.

“’S fine. I’m a bit much sometimes, right? You don’t need to apologize for needing space to yourself to think,” Crowley said. He maybe would have preferred to know that was what was going on and that he hadn’t chased Aziraphale away forever, but he was back now, so all’s well that ends well and all that.

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said, voice suffuse with gratitude. A frankly worrying amount of gratitude considering all Crowley had said was it was fine for Aziraphale to need his own space sometimes.

Crowley picked his head up. “Aziraphale, what…?”

“There’s something I want to ask you for,” Aziraphale said quickly. Not, Crowley thought, because he was desperate to change the subject, but because he was rushing to get the words out before he lost his nerve.

“Anything you want, angel,” Crowley said.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Unadulterated panic flooded through his veins, making Crowley feel like he was going to throw up. He closed his eyes and just barely stopped himself from burrowing his face into Aziraphale’s neck. “No, it’s fine; we don’t have to do that,” he said. “This is fine. This is enough. I don’t need that.” _Please don’t leave me again._

“But what if I need that? What if I…? Oh this is all so _confusing_,” Aziraphale said, the last word coming out as a half-sob. “I don’t understand this. I’m not supposed to feel this way; merpeople are not supposed to feel this way. But you asked if you could kiss me and I felt so much. I feel so much. I just want, and I don’t know what to do, Crowley. _Please_.”

Aziraphale sounded like he was breaking apart at the seams, and that tore Crowley apart as well. He opened his eyes. Aziraphale looked lost and confused and completely wrecked. Wonderingly, Crowley reached out and placed his hand on the side of his face, brushing away a tear. “I didn’t know angels could cry.”

Aziraphale let out another shuddery sob. “I’m not an angel.”

“Of course you are,” Crowley said. Then slowly, carefully, softly, gently, he leaned in and placed a kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. He held it for only the briefest of moments, then pulled away and rested their foreheads together. “Okay?” he asked.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I—” he leaned in and pressed their mouths together again. It was a clumsy effort, with noses bumping and teeth clashing, but Crowley used the hand on Aziraphale’s cheek to guide them into something a little smoother.

They exchanged more kisses after that, Crowley keeping them all to sweet, light things. Even so, by the time he pulled away Aziraphale’s lips had gone slightly swollen and he was staring at Crowley with wonder in his eyes. “God, I love you so much,” Crowley said.

There was no time to panic at having gone too fast again, because as soon as he said it a smile bloomed across Aziraphale’s face. “You do?”

“Angel, I’ve been in love with you since the beach. When you told me off for nearly getting myself killed and bragged about how much better of rescuer you are than me, you smug bastard,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked at him like he’d hung the moon and stars. Honestly, when Aziraphale smiled at him like that, Crowley felt like he could _make_ the stars. “Oh, thank you. And I…” Aziraphale faltered. “I—” His smile fell and his expression went worried and fretful again.

“Hey, stop that,” Crowley said. He gave a couple light taps to the side of Aziraphale’s forehead. “You don’t have to say anything. This is all new to you. Go at whatever pace you like.”

Granted, it was new to Crowley too, this feeling like he was floating on air, but perfectly grounded. Like every moment together was bright and new and exciting, but he couldn’t remember what his life had been like or how he’d gotten by before this. Like every moment he was seconds away bursting out in laughter and possibly even dancing for joy, and yet he was calmer and more centred than he ever had been. Like he was an entirely new person, and yet more fully himself than he would have ever believed possible. Still, Crowley had at least had the past month to acclimate to this feeling, even if at times it seemed to grow far faster than he could ever hope to keep up with. Aziraphale had never even heard of romantic love before Crowley had explained it to him. Of course it would take him more time.

Aziraphale expression settled. “You are so good to me,” he said.

“You’re easy to be good to,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale gave a funny little half-smile, like he thought Crowley was the one doing something special, and not just reacting to Aziraphale’s natural Aziraphale-ness. “Kiss me again?” he asked.

Crowley grinned, then swooped in to do just that. They started the kisses off light and chaste again, but after a minute or so Crowley gently sucked Aziraphale’s bottom lip in his mouth. This elicited a startled but appreciative sort of moan from Aziraphale, which Crowley took as encouragement. He continued to deepen the kisses, all to Aziraphale’s uncertain but enthusiastic response, until they were hot, hungry things, feeding Crowley’s deepening desires to both swallow Aziraphale down whole and climb inside him and never leave.

Aziraphale pulled away first, “Crowley,” he said, his voice completely wrecked.

“Alright?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded, but the motion was jerky, and now that he paying closer attention Crowley could see the way he was trembling. This was all still very new for him, Crowley reminded himself.

“C’mere,” Crowley said. He gently guided Aziraphale down from his perch to the deck where the two of them could sit with their backs to the railing. Crowley placed an arm around Aziraphale and gently guided his head to rest on Crowley’s shoulder. He left his one hand to rub comfortingly on Aziraphale’s arm and with his other hand he grabbed onto Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale squeezed his hand like a lifeline. “Better?” Crowley asked.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Not that I wasn’t enjoying the other, I just…”

“I told you,” Crowley said. He placed a kiss in top of Aziraphale’s head. “Go at your own pace.”

They stayed nestled close together like that for the rest of the night. Occasionally they spoke or traded more kisses, but mostly they sat together in silence basking in the nearness of each other until the first rays of dawn peaked over the horizon.

“I love watching the sunrise,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“I’ve been more of a fan of sunset myself lately, but this one is nice,” Crowley said.

“You’ve been blindfolded during sunset lately,” Aziraphale said.

“I know,” Crowley said. Aziraphale cast a suspicious look at him and Crowley smiled back guilelessly. Any further banter was forestalled however by Crowley letting out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Oh goodness. I think you ought to go to bed, my dear,” said Aziraphale.

“Nah, I’m fine,” Crowley said. He wanted to stay here just a little longer. A minute or two. Or twenty. An hour. For forever, forever sounded good.

“You’ve been up all night practically. You must be exhausted. I insist you get some rest.”

“I can sleep here,” Crowley said. “You’ll let me borrow your lap, yeah?”

Aziraphale flushed. It was even prettier in the daylight when Crowley could see it properly. “I don’t object to the idea on principle,” Aziraphale said, “but at the moment I need to go too.”

Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightened, but he didn’t panic. Personal growth. “Go where?”

“Oh, I just meant back in the water,” Aziraphale assured him. “I‘ve been up all night too, and my tail is starting to dry out for one.”

“Oh, right,” Crowley said. He’d, well he hadn’t forgotten about the tail exactly, but something in that neighbourhood. “Here, let me help you back up on the railing.” He placed one arm under Aziraphale’s tail, the other arm behind his back, and lifted him up to where he’d been perched the night before. But in setting him down Crowley’s hand must have slipped oddly somehow, and he ended up pulling off one of Aziraphale’s scales.

“Ow,” Aziraphale said, his hand automatically reaching out to press against the spot.

“Shit, sorry,” Crowley said, holding the scale up uselessly. “I didn’t mean to–“

“It’s fine. It only hurt for a moment, and it’ll grow back,” Aziraphale assured him. “Good… well I suppose it’s a bit too late to say good night. Good morning, Crowley.”

Crowley gave and amused smile. “Good morning, angel. Love you.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. He leaned in and placed another kiss on Crowley’s lips, this time with no bumped noses or clashed teeth.

“You’re getting better at that,” Crowley said.

“I have an excellent teacher,” Aziraphale replied. “Sleep well, darling.”

Crowley stole one last kiss and grinned. “See you in a bit.”


End file.
